


My Body is a Cage

by blackbird



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbird/pseuds/blackbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate is a vampire, but this war is making him feel more human than ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Body is a Cage

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written for the 96 hour [Generation Kill Halloween Fest](http://generation-kill.livejournal.com/657215.html). It's been cleaned up and filled out some because sometimes I forget words when I write that fast. Many thanks to [](http://eleanor-lavish.livejournal.com/profile)[**eleanor_lavish**](http://eleanor-lavish.livejournal.com/) for her beta skills. Title courtesy of Arcade Fire.

The desert gleams and the brightness makes Nate's eyes ache. He slides down in the shade of the Humvee and squeezes his eyes closed. It's two more hours until sunset and Nate ignores the itch under his skin. It would help if he fed, but his men are down to one MRE a day and in solidarity, Nate refuses to drain more than one bag of blood.

"Your nobility is commendable, but stupid," Wynn says, dropping down next to him. He's the only one that knows. "The last thing we need to add to this clusterfuck is you falling into bloodlust." Nate raises his eyebrows and Wynn snorts. "A bloodlust of the not killin' the enemy sort." Wynn's eyes cut to their lead vehicle. "Person doesn't seem to have any trouble with his share."

"In all the years I've known him, Ray's never turned down a meal. He's not going to start now. And he shouldn't, especially since the platoon is following his lead." Sometimes, Nate regrets what he's done to Ray, bringing him into this life. But Ray seems to relish it. He's not the same rash, impulsive man he was when Nate pulled him from the edge of death in that alleyway. The sound of laughter erupts from the vehicle and Trombley comes slamming out, storming off toward Bravo Three.

"Come on, Trombley, don't be that way! I'm sure your mother doesn't swallow every time," Ray calls and Nate sighs. Well, not entirely the same. There are some things even being undead for more than a hundred and fifty years can't change.

Brad's door opens and Nate's head snaps up. The wind shifts and even through the stink of unwashed bodies, the metallic burn of cordite and faint greasiness of burning oil, Nate can pick out Brad's scent - saltwater and citrus underneath the layers of sweat and grime. Nate runs his tongue over the razor sharp tips of his fangs, forcing them to retract. It's been centuries since Nate's had to work this hard to keep control.

Brad catches Nate's eyes and gives him a half smile before heading off in the same direction as Trombley. Wynn wisely says nothing. Nate rolls his neck and nods. "Fine. When we get into Baghdad, Ray and I will have plenty of opportunity to acquire other sources - I have been assured of this. As long as I hold my rations to twice a day, there should be enough to last without having to - "

"Understood, sir," Wynn says. He claps Nate on the shoulder and gets to his feet. "I'll clear Stafford and Christeson out of the truck so you can have some privacy." Nate nods his thanks, squinting out at the endless horizon in front of him and thinking of the ocean.

*

Nate is washing his face in one of the cracked sinks. The restroom is fairly nice; on this floor, he thinks it must have been the one the executives used. The water is lukewarm but at least it's clean.

He hears the footsteps long before he looks up to see Brad watching him. Brad is standing in the doorway, his hand resting on the butt of his gun. His stance is meant to be casual, but Nate knows better.

"Can I help you, Sergeant?" he asks, wiping his face with the shirt he fished out of his pack.

"I thought we weren't patrolling at night, sir," he says. Nate keeps his face carefully blank. He and Ray had slipped out through the back fence when Ray's watch shift finished. Wynn had been there to let them out and was there again when they came back exactly ninety minutes later, fully sated for the first time since they'd left Kuwait. Ray had started to show signs of blood sickness and if they hadn't made it into the city, he and Nate would have had to go out and hunt in the open desert. Wynn was good and very, very careful. But Brad wasn't in First Recon because he was stupid.

"We aren't. Our orders are to stay here after dark and go out into the city at first light. Was there some confusion?" Brad shifts his weight and Nate catches his scent again. But there is something else there now too, something heady, earthy, and Nate thanks a God he hasn't believed in in a few hundred years that he's fed tonight. He doesn't even have to try to keep his fangs in when he allows his glance to flick back and forth up Brad's body.

"No, sir. But Ray disappeared after his watch and I thought it was strange to see him with you and Gunny near the back of the factory when I went looking for him. It's our SOP that he at least lets me know when he's going to wander off and annoy you." Brad scratches his chin under the strap of his Kevlar and blinks innocently at Nate. "I thought I'd see if he was trying to dig a hole under the fence to smuggle in what passes for liquor and loose women in this oasis."

Nate smiles at him, but he knows that Brad is going to be watching both him and Ray even more closely than he already does. Nate can't decide if he's excited or angry about this development. "He was not, but it's nothing I'm sure he hasn't considered. Gunny and I were just going over some plans for the patrol tomorrow and Ray was looking for a quiet place for some private time. I was getting ready to gather up you, Poke, and Rudy to go over the objectives when I was finished here, in fact."

Brad nods sharply. "Affirmative. I'll get them and meet you at your victor in ten mikes." It's not until he hears Brad hit the stairs at the end of the hall that Nate lets himself relax. He stuffs the damp shirt back into his pack and sees that his other hand was clenched so hard, there are little shallow, moon shaped cuts in the palm of his hand. Nate licks up the blood that is welling up and the marks heal over instantly. One more glance in the mirror and he straps on his Kevlar to go and brief his men.

*

Lilley's movie is both honest and dishonest in a way Nate can relate to. The images of the carnage and the footage of the men is real, but seeing it that way can never truly show what it felt like to be there. To know you were holding lives in your hands. It made Nate tired.

And Ray. Ray is still stunning in his ability to make Nate want to bury a wooden stake in his chest. He held back with Rudy, but there was a moment, Nate could feel in his gut, a moment where Ray considered unleashing all his pent up rage. If he had, there would have been nothing Nate could have done to save Rudy or Ray. It doesn't bear thinking about what else Nate might have had to do to clean up a situation like that. But it made up his mind about what to do after this tour. He and Ray were ending their time in the Marine Corps.

He and Wynn are finalizing their inventory as Brad approaches. "Brad," Wynn says, not meeting Nate's eyes. "Your paperwork all squared away?"

"Yes, sir. Thought I'd get it to you while it was relatively quiet," Brad replies and Nate doesn't look up until he's done with his double count.

"Gunny, why don't you take that paperwork and ours to the company clerk?" Nate suggests and Wynn doesn't even try to protest. Wynn told him at Pendleton that he had no problem working with Nate and that his policy was if it didn't happen in his presence, it was none of his business. Nate liked that about him.

"Yes, sir," he says, gathering everything and giving Nate one significant look before leaving. Nate sits down on a crate and looks up at Brad expectantly. Might as well let Brad hold onto the illusion of power for as long as he can.

"Something on your mind, Brad?"

"You, sir. And Ray."

"What about it?"

Brad swallows hard and Nate can see him measuring his words. "You seem...closer recently. Ray has been my RTO for a long time and something isn't right with him. I thought you might have some insight."

Nate knows how much it must have taken for Brad to come and ask for Nate's advice, in spite of how much Brad respects him.

"You should talk to Ray. I can't imagine I can offer you any insight into him that you wouldn't eventually be able to get to on your own. Ray's a...special flower." Nate smirks, thinking about the look on Ray's face if he was overhearing this conversation. It gives Nate great satisfaction to be able to wind him up after all these years.

"If there's such a thing as flowers in his backward, messed up hick world," Brad answers and when he grins broadly, Nate shivers. It feels like he's breaking out in goose bumps, but that hasn't happened in ages. He steps forward and drops into a crouch, swaying right into Nate's personal space. "Unless there's something more going on that I should know about. Wherever you two keep sneaking off to maybe?"

This close, Brad's scent is overwhelming. Nate feels like he's drowning in it. Faster than Brad can comprehend, Nate is on him. Brad goes sprawling on his back, Nate straddling him with Brad's wrists pinned over his head. It would be so easy, Nate thinks as he watches Brad struggle underneath him. So easy to sink his fangs right into Brad's arched neck and drink and drink until Nate is enveloped by the ocean. But Nate wants _more_ than just that.

Brad bucking his hips up snaps Nate back to the present. No matter how hard he fights, Brad won't be able to unseat Nate unless Nate lets him. Not that Nate doesn't appreciate his efforts. "Stop fighting me," he says. He doesn't have the same ability to influence that Ray has, but Nate's never needed it. Ray always says people listen to Nate regardless. "You won't win, Brad."

Brad stills, but the fight is still in his eyes. He's looking for a weakness, the place where Nate will drop his guard. "Sir?" he asks and Nate takes a deep and unnecessary breath.

"I need you to trust me. You've placed your life and the lives of our men in my hands all this time. I need you to do that a little longer."

It's foolish; a move worthy of Ray, but Nate finds that he can't help it. He presses his weight down and shifts back. When he leans in, his face is only inches from Brad's. "Can you do that, Brad?" Something hot flares in Brad's eyes and Nate can feel that he's half hard.

"Nate," he says quietly and it's the first time Brad has ever called him by his name. If Nate wasn't already in over his head, he is now.

"Give me until we're out of Iraq. You have my word that I'll explain everything." He can't stop himself from pressing in closer, the tip of his nose barely brushing the curve of Brad's neck. His pulse is hammering and Nate can feel the call of his blood under the surface. His fangs slip down, but Nate keeps his mouth closed and rolls to his feet. Brad's still stunned, but he gathers himself quickly.

"I look forward to it...sir," Brad says, his eyes never leaving Nate's. "And I'll make sure Ray is squared away."

"I wish you luck with that, Sergeant. If he gives you any trouble, tell him to come and see me," Nate replies, biting his lip. Brad is staring at his mouth. "Dismissed."

*

They're in the hangar waiting to change planes in Frankfurt when Ray comes to him. Nate inclines his head and they go down a winding back hallway. When they find an empty office, Nate ushers him inside and closes the door. He pulls two donor bags out of his pack and tosses one to Ray. Ray pops his fangs into it and sucks at it like it's a juice box.

"Jesus, Ray. That's disgusting," he says, but his voice is fond. Ray winks at him lewdly and pulls it away from his mouth. His lips and teeth are stained red and he looks entirely like the deadly predator Nate knows he can be.

"You love it, Nathaniel. Don't pretend it doesn't get you all hot and bothered." Ray licks the corner of his mouth and quirks his eyebrow. "Of course, I'm not Brad, so maybe not."

Nate gives him a hard look and bites into his own bag, draining it neatly. It's a long flight back to California and Nate has a feeling he's going to find himself sitting with Brad. Ray's not nearly as clever as he thinks he is. Hopefully Nate will be able to sleep through at least some of it. He waits for Ray to finish and sticks the empty bags in a biohazard container and dumps them in the trash. "I'm going to tell him. And neither of us are reupping for another tour."

Ray wipes his the back of his hand across his mouth. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Telling you. But if you don't want me to reveal you to Brad, I won't." Nate respects that Ray might not want Brad to know that he's been humoring him all this time. Part of the joy of their friendship is based on the fact that Brad thinks he could kill Ray with his pinky.

Ray smirks. "I'm not as old as you, but I'm not fucking blind, you know. I've seen the way you two have been dancing around each other like retarded love struck teenyboppers. But how _is_ Juliet gonna react when he finds out that his motherfucking Romeo is an immortal blood sucking fiend? Even if you are wrapped up in that innocent, come hither, oh-I've-never-been-defiled-this-way-before package?"

He doesn't have time to struggle before Nate has him pinned by the throat. Ray kicks, trying to get some leverage, but Nate drags him further up the wall. "After all this time, you still don't understand boundaries, do you, Ray?"

"A-apparently not," he stutters out, his chest heaving needlessly.

"I am giving you a choice. You know most makers are not so generous and I have never forced to do anything against your will. But I need you keep your speculation about this situation to yourself. Is that very clear?" It's never been in Nate's nature to impose his will, even when he thought he should keep Ray on a tighter leash. Fortunately, giving Ray his freedom was the right choice. There's no one in the world more loyal to Nate than he is - Ray's almost died for him more than once.

Ray doesn't look him in the eye, but he seems to be properly chastened. He looks down, submitting to Nate. "I'm sorry." Nate lets him down, but doesn't let go of his throat. "You have my word."

Nate steps back before letting go and Ray sags against the wall. He rubs at his throat and Nate feels guilty for being so harsh with him. "I'd like to talk to him myself. If you don't mind." He shoots Nate a wild grin. "It'll be fun to see if I can blow his mind."

He leans in and cups Ray's cheek. Pressing their foreheads together, Nate lets out a weary sigh. "I will let you know. And if it goes badly, we may need to employ your less savory talents to..." He closes his eyes in disgust. Even the idea of having to alter Brad's memory makes him feel ill. It's clear by the way Ray's body tenses that he feels the same way.

"He's Brad. He can like, leap buildings in a single bound and shit. He won't freak out," Ray reassures him and Nate lets himself believe that Ray might be right.

"That's Superman, idiot."

"Superman, Iceman, whatever," Ray shrugs. There's a knock at the door. Nate hands Ray the packet of baby wipes from his pocket.

"Clean your face," he orders. "Yes?"

"Getting ready to load up. Everything all right in there?" It's Wynn. Nate is going to miss his steady friendship.

"Affirmative. Corporal Person and I will be foot mobile in two mikes."

Ray tosses the stained wipes in the trash and grins at Nate. "You know, I don't think I'm gonna miss the Marines." He goes out the door and when Nate gets into the hangar bay, he sees Ray standing next to Brad, chattering away.

But Brad's eyes don't leave Nate until Ray drags him onto the plane.

*

They've been stateside for two days. Nate spends the first day sleeping, his bedroom cool and quiet and as dark as he could make it. He went out when he woke up and picked up a man – tall and blond, with a surfer's build. His blood was clean, but Nate found no joy in it.

Just after sunset on the second night, his doorbell rings. Nate leaves his damp towel across the end of the bed and pulls on the closest pair of jeans and an old, soft t-shirt. He doesn't notice until he's about to open the door that his shirt has a knight's crest on the front. Ray's idea of a joke, but he doesn't want to leave Brad standing on his doorstep. He feigns surprise when he opens the door.

"I expected you to be halfway to Canada on your bike by now," Nate says by way of greeting and steps back so Brad can come inside.

"I went out at first light and just about made it to the Oregon border. I considered gunning it, but I remembered we had an appointment, so." Brad shrugs off his leather jacket and Nate is pathetically grateful Ray isn't here to see how his hand is shaking just a little as he takes it and hangs it near the door. "Ray gave me your address. I hope it wasn't too presumptuous, sir. Something told me this is a discussion that might prove to be easier had off base."

Nate admires Brad's strategic planning. By coming to Nate, he's trying to give the impression that Nate holds the higher ground and since they're on his turf, it should lull Nate into a sense of security. It's a solid plan and if Nate were anyone else, Brad would be able to get the drop on him. But Nate feels the air move when Brad does and in the space of two heartbeats, he's got Brad face down on the floor, his arm twisting up behind him. Nate's knee is pressing into his lower back and Brad's not fighting nearly as hard as Nate knows he can.

"And what was that supposed to prove?" Nate asks and he can feel Brad's laugh.

"That what happened before wasn't a fluke. And that all that time cooped up in a Humvee with Person didn't make me a complete whiskey tango retard fuck up like him." He squirms and Nate rolls to his feet. Brad turns over and sits up. "Am I going to need to be drunk for whatever you're about to tell me?"

Nate offers his hand and pulls Brad up. It's selfish of him, but he shakes his head. "A clear head might be best. And if you change your mind, I have some very good whiskey stashed around here somewhere." Brad doesn't let go immediately and Nate can feel Brad's pulse hammering under his fingertips. It makes his mouth water. "Come on," he says, leading Brad down the hallway.

He's owned this house since the twenties and it's been retrofitted several times when Nate needed extra space. The door to Nate's study has a pin pad hidden under a false switch plate. When he turns back, Brad is looking past Nate and through the open door to Nate's bedroom. "I can give you the full tour after we talk," he says with a wry smile. The lock clicks and the door opens.

He ushers Brad in and waits for him to take it all in. The walls and cases of weapons – every weapon Nate has ever wielded in times of war. There's an empty space waiting for his current M-16. But to Nate's great surprise, Brad goes straight for the map. It's not the original, that's stored in a facility in London. The one here is a reproduction Nate commissioned after the last war in the Gulf. He wanted to remember his roots, such as they were.

Brad's face is strangely reverent. "This is..."

"A map of the Third Crusade, led by King Richard the Lionheart," Nate finishes. "He was a great leader. I was honored to follow him into battle." Brad bites his gasp back so quickly that, even with his acute hearing, Nate almost misses it. "It was to his credit that he realized that we were still the men he brought from England. We had no idea what was going to happen to us that night in Cyprus. The King realized that we could be his advantage and as long as we pledged our fealty to him, he would shield us in his ranks. His brother, John, was not as accommodating."

Nate doesn't move, lets Brad come to him. "That would make you somewhere north of eight hundred years old," he says, blinking. "Aren't you tired of war yet?"

That's not what Nate was expecting him to ask. It makes him laugh. "War has been the only constant thing in my life. I was born a soldier. I don't know any other way."

Brad's hand comes up very slowly, like he thinks Nate needs to be gentled so he won't spook. He cups Nate's jaw and his thumb presses into the center of Nate's lower lip. It takes all of Nate's control not to pin him to the floor. But he waits for Brad to ask. It has to be that way. "Show me," Brad says softly.

Nate tips his head back and lets his fangs drop. The pressure that's been building at the base of his skull eases. Brad runs his thumb over the right one, testing the sharpness. A tiny drop of blood wells up at the tip and Nate clenches his fists to keep control of himself.

"It might be best for both of us if you didn't tempt me," Nate advises, but Brad doesn't move.

"Will it hurt?" he asks.

"It can, but it doesn't have to," Nate answers honestly.

"Will I die?"

"I'm fully capable of controlling myself. I haven't killed someone that didn't deserve it in a very long time."

That's when Brad finally steps back and Nate feels like he can think clearly. "Okay."

Nate's laughter sounds a little hysterical, even to him. "Okay? Do you have any idea – Jesus fucking Christ, Brad." But the look that passes over Brad's face is vulnerable, hurt. It's gone as soon as it was there.

He steps forward then, two fingers pressing into the side of Brad's neck. "Do you know what you smell like?" His other hand goes to Brad's hip, holding him still. "Like the ocean after rain." Nate brushes his mouth over Brad's lightly. "Like lying under an orange tree in tall, warm grass." Trailing his lips up Brad's jaw, he presses a feather light kiss behind his ear.

Brad gasps and his hips arch forward into Nate's. "Oh fuck," he says and Nate growls. He nuzzles his nose into the curve of Brad's neck and all the want that's been crawling under his skin for months is clawing its way to the surface. His instinct is telling him to shove Brad back onto the desk, tear open his throat and drink until he can't drink anymore.

When he moves, Brad whines and later Nate is going to tease him mercilessly about that. He kisses him then, distracting him from how fast Nate gets them from his study to the bedroom. He's careful not to nick Brad's tongue with his fangs when Brad pulls back to breath. He blinks when he realizes they've moved. "That's some party trick," he says as Nate skins off his shirt.

"I have many more where that came from. I'll show you a few others later," Nate answers, tugging Brad's shirt off too. His dog tags clink, the metal glinting in the dim light. "It feels best when in combination with.."

"Fucking?" Brad asks and the cocky arrogance that Nate so enjoys is back in his voice. Nate thinks maybe Brad might actually be a challenge. He likes that.

"Yeah. Still interested?"

Brad unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans. Toeing off his boots, he shoves everything down, boxers included, and kicks them off and out from under his feet. Brad's cock is hard and behind his eyes, Nate sees himself on his knees, sucking Brad deep, letting him fuck his mouth. Nate hasn't wanted to do that in quite some time. "That clear it up for you?"

"Get on the bed," Nate orders. He strips his own jeans off and climbs on after him, straddling Brad's lap. Brad hisses when their cocks brush and Nate grins. "I really like it when you do what I say."

"Fucking officers," Brad curses as Nate wraps his hand around Brad's cock, jerking him roughly. He ducks, nuzzling at the vein standing out on Brad's neck.

"Leather and wind and fuck, I don't even know anymore," he murmurs, swiping his thumb over the head and feeling the vibration of Brad's groan under his mouth. "Want you so much."

Brad's hands slide up Nate's back and one rests on the back of Nate's neck as his hips push up into Nate's hand. "You can, Nate. Fucking fuck, please, Nate. Just do it already," he begs. He doesn't have to tell Nate twice. Nate sinks his fangs in and drinks.

This must be what it feels like to be drunk, Nate thinks dimly. The last time he felt this lightheaded was in a tavern in Cyprus when an olive skinned boy led him out into the alley and damned him to this fate. His skin is tingling with sensation and as Brad's heartbeat begins to speed up, Nate keeps his hand moving on Brad's cock as fast as he can. Brad's blood is filling his mouth, burning through his body and Nate feels like he's flying.

Brad cries out, coming hot and sticky over Nate's fist and Nate forces himself to stop. He strokes Brad through the aftershocks as he licks over the puncture wounds, cleaning and healing them. Under him, Brad is shaking and Nate licks the last drop of blood from the corner of his mouth and settles him back onto the pillows properly. His eyes are glassy and Nate kisses him, close mouthed. It's Brad who licks at the seam of Nate's mouth, deepening the kiss until Nate is gasping too, hips stuttering against the slick mess on Brad's stomach. He comes hard, sucking at the bite marks, but careful not to break them open again.

"Holy fuck," Brad exhales and Nate muffles his laugh in Brad's shoulder. "I didn't think that seeing stars thing was real, but I'll be goddamned if I didn't." He kisses Nate's bare shoulder and Nate rolls off him. He tries to get up and get something to clean them up, but Brad holds onto him. "It's fine. Leave it for now."

They lay in silence for long enough that Nate thinks Brad's fallen asleep. "I want to know everything," Brad says softly. "Everything you've seen, it must be..." He trails off and Nate turns his head to look at him. Brad's face is open and clear.

"It's a very long story," Nate replies, spreading his hand open over Brad's beating heart. He thinks he knows what Brad is saying, but Nate's not ready for that. Not right now. And Brad needs time to consider. Nate will give him the choice that he didn't have. The choice he wasn't able to give to Ray. Brad needs to be very certain.

"I think we'll have time," Brad says, touching Nate's mouth again. He catches Brad's hand and presses a kiss to the underside of his wrist before settling on his side.

"I was born in a little village on the southern coast of England..."  



End file.
